#famous ghosts

[simonbrain]

it settles deep into his chest—the love he has for you. he depends on you more than he'd like to admit, always by your side no matter what you're doing, his large, warm hands resting on your hips while he watches you complete the most mundane tasks over your shoulder.

it eats at him, the need to devour you whole, bones and all. he barely masks the snarl on his face when he catches a whiff of your scent, calloused hands twitching as he holds himself back from squeezing your soft skin the way he wants to, his jaw clenched as his mouth waters at the thought of sinking his teeth into your neck and shaking his head like a dog with a bone.

while he doesn't want to hurt you, there's no way he can love you without being a little rough. a little mean. it's not in his nature to love someone so gently; all the softness has been beaten out of him by the cruel hands of life.

that doesn't mean he won't try, though.

you kiss him so sweetly, with soft lips pressed to his, and he learns to relax into the kiss instead of pawing at your thighs, eager for more. he learns to control the urge to swallow you until there's nothing left and settles with pecks on your mouth until you're giggling.

you cling to him while you nap together, and he learns to melt against you and let go of that paranoia, the voice in the back of his head hissing at him that something will go wrong if he falls asleep.

you cup his cheeks when you sense him retreating to the dark corners of his mind, thumbs caressing over the scars and looking at him with the softest gaze he has ever seen anyone spare him, and he learns to reel himself back in. there's no trail of the hate or disdain he was expecting, no judgement whatsoever; just concern and warmth on your sweet face.

while he learns from you how to be gentle, you learn from him how to be greedy. you want him to consume your very soul.

you're not afraid of him tainting you. you're not afraid of the hands that have murdered countless people. you're not scared of the way he looks at you sometimes, like he's trying to engulf you just with his gaze alone, or the way he grabs at your supple body, like he's trying to merge with your being, or the way he kisses you, like he's trying to steal every bit of air from your lungs and hoard it for himself.

he's learning how to love you the way you deserve, but if you push back against him, taking something for yourself instead of being his sweet, thoughtful girl? if you bite back at him with more cheek than he's used to? if you kiss him back with more teeth than sweetness? he won't complain.

to know that you crave him as badly as he craves you? it sets his heart ablaze.

you always manage to surprise him, teaching the old dog new tricks.

[gravehags]

cardinal copia in his cassock & biretta - an appreciation post

[vampyfrnk]

happy birthday ray toro! - july 15th, 1977

[atomikats]

i choose to believe zoro had long hair and that’s why it falls differently post-ts. he always had it pulled back and his busted scalp got stuck like that

[s0fter-sin]

soap's whole deal being sniper and demolitions gets me going bc on the surface they sound so different but when you get into it, you realise it's bc soap's smart

sniping is all math; calculating distances and wind interference and bullet drop. something i think people overlook is he was listed as a sniper first so it can be implied that he's better at it than demolitions. he does more sniping in both campaigns than demolitions work; in capture or kill, ghost specifically calls on him to take down the aq snipers

and demolitions is math with a hit of chemistry; knowing what mixes with what, knowing how much to use, recognising environmental factors and adjusting accordingly. it's not just about the boom; so much work goes into contained/ planned explosions. especially when having enough power for a breacher charge and not bringing down the whole building is the difference between mission success and failure

the chemical bombs he makes in alone can't just be any old cleaners, they have to have the correct reaction to each other; he just knew off the top of his head what would mix with what to create what reaction. he would also potentially have to recognise them by sight/smell bc they would’ve been written in spanish

soap would also have to know architecture; recognising structural integrity and weak points so he knows exactly where to plant a charge to bring it down and how it'll come down

he has an incredible soldier's mind people just forget that bc he's sociable which itself is a skill

we know he tends to buck against orders he doesn't agree with like when he pushes back against ghost in capture or kill and shepherd when he tells them to release hassan

he gets closer to people and sees if he can trust them and that's when he follows them without question. really think about how he talks to alejandro and rudy; he asks about their home and alejandro's family and rudy's relationship with him. those aren't questions you ask a stranger after a few hours of knowing them. that's not even touching on his relationship with ghost

he also deliberately brings people of higher ranks down to his level; talking informally with ghost and giving him a shoulder punch, addressing alejandro (a colonel!!) by his first name and rudy by his nickname despite literally just meeting them. he personalises all of them and it’s in direct opposition to the reason most characters do that; it’s not due to insubordination or lack of respect, the more he respects and trusts someone, the more casual he is with them

he digs into people; he wants to know what makes them tick and that determines if he can one, trust them and two, follow their orders. once he decides that, he's the ultimate soldier; he bleeds loyalty which makes him vicious when that loyalty is taken for granted

he isn't naive or bubbly or insecure; he's an incredibly smart and aware soldier. he's aggressive and bloodthirsty and loyal and intuitive and i love him so much

[weirdlookindog]

Virgil Finlay - Haunted Hostel

(Famous Fantastic Mysteries - June 1953)

[bacchuschucklefuck]

this has been a roller coaster of a design journey but finally I can present you: class swap artificer!adaine and rogue!fabian

[spacedace]

Here have some snippets of the AU that’s taken over my brain (featuring Elle unintentionally dunking on both of Bruce’s identities, Clark realizing he passed his taste in partners on to his son, a bit of pre/unaware that they are dating Super Serious Chaos, and some blink-and-you-miss-it background Enemies to Lovers Dick/Dan)

---

“Sorry, who’s Bruce Wayne?”

The room when quiet. All heads turned to look at Elle at the end of the table. Bruce didn’t visibly react, but Clark could make out the subtle indication of disbelief that his old friend was feeling - that they all were feeling at the interpreter’s question. Elle, suddenly aware she had the full room’s attention, had the look of someone who realized they’d said something wrong, but didn’t know what.

“You’re kidding.” John said, “You know Bruce Wayne. Everyone knows Bruce Wayne.”

Elle blinked. “I don’t.” She glanced from face to face, “Is he like a big deal? Does he work here or something? I haven’t been around that long so I might have missed him.”

It took every bit of self control Clark had not to laugh. His voice still came out a bit strangled from the effort as he offered, “No he doesn’t work here.” If Bruce was the type to do so in uniform, he’d be kicking Clark under the table.

“You live in Gotham. You have to know Bruce Wayne.” Barry said, voice going a bit high with growing bewilderment. “Mega ba-jillionair. CEO of Wayne Tech? Richest man in Gotham - in the world? Has like a hundred kids?”

Their interpreter’s nose scrunched. “So he’s like…in one of those fundamentalist cults obsessed with having a bunch of kids or something?”

Bruce actually twitched at that. The sound of utter disgust in Elle’s voice at the concept, the complete and total lack of any kind of recognition she had for the single most famous non-crime or crime-fighting related person in the city that she lived in, she truly had no idea who they were talking about. Clark had to get a recording of the room’s security feed, Lois would love this. Oh, wait no, Bruce’s kids. Maybe if he was fast enough he could text Dick to get there ASAP so he could see it all in person before it was over.

“No! Nothing like that! He adopted them - well most of them.” Barry tried to explain, looking utterly lost as he turned from Elle to the rest of them and back again. “You’re messing with us right? This is like a joke?”

Elle shook her head, looking just as lost as Barry did. “I have no idea who you’re talking about.”

“Do you know Dick Grayson?”

“I know of an officer Grayson who is a dick. Total tool. He’s been making my brother’s Dan’s life miserable for like a year now. Pretty sure not who you’re talking about though.”

“Jason Todd.”

“The library goon?”

“Tim Drake.”

“Sounds like a Dark Wing Duck character.”

“Cassandra Cain.”

“Isn’t that the author that started out writing incest Harry Potter fanfic?”

“Duke Thomas?”

“What’s he a Duke of?”

Barry snapped his fingers, pointing emphatically at Elle with a look of victory on his masked face as he shouted, “Damian Wayne!”

Damian, who had at that moment just walked into the meeting room with Jon at his heels paused in his place just behind Elle. He did pretty well at hiding his surprise at Barry seemingly shouting his civilian name and pointing at him upon walking in. Though the tense line of his shoulders suggested that if Barry was actually revealing his secret identity without warning or permission, there would be blood.

Stella Nightingale, unaware of the almost-kinda identity reveal going on around her, tilted her head in confusion at the speedster. “I’m assuming he’s related to that Bruce Wayne guy?”

“They’re all related to Bruce Wayne.” John said with open amusement now. The Green Lantern had given up on the research entirely, watching the entire debacle with a growing smirk he kept casting towards Bruce. “That man’s face is plastered absolutely everywhere in the news. How do you not know who he is?”

“If Lois Lane hasn’t written about him he can’t be that important.” Elle said with a casual certainty of one speaking a core tenant of their beliefs. Clark’s opinion of the young woman - already quite high considering her ferocious loyalty and fondness to Jon - rose sharply.

“You’re read the Daily Planet?” Clark asked, warmth curling in his chest at the mention of his wife and her work.

“I read articles by Lois Lane.” Elle said promptly, “I tried reading some articles that Kent guy she partners with sometimes wrote on his own but I couldn’t get past his writing style. Dude sounds like he’s from outer space with his word choice sometimes.”

Bruce, looking far too pleased, gave a quiet and not terribly convincing cough as Clark tried to will his soul back into his body.

It was going to be a long day.

—

“You are at least aware of who Gotham’s vigilantes are, yes?” Damian asked with a raised brow behind his mask.

Elle shrugged, giving him a sly smile. “The relevant ones.”

Clark tried to hide his short laugh with a feigned cough. Elle at least was distracted enough with Jon and Damian’s attention to notice but Bruce was giving him a look over the tablet he was trying - and undoubtedly failing - to review files on.

Jon grinned eagerly from his spot beside Elle as he asked, “Aren’t they all relevant to you? You live in Gotham.”

“I live in Crime Alley.” Elle corrected, bumping his shoulder with hers. “We have different standards of relevancy there.”

“So what are the relevant ones then?” Clark asked, pointedly ignoring Bruce’s burning stare. They’d get back to the research. Eventually. Finding out if the Gothamite who had been spending all her free time with Phoenix and Flamebird for the past year and a half was as oblivious to her city’s heroes as she was its celebrities was too entertaining a notion to pass up.

“Phoenix, obviously.” She grinned cheekily at Damian across the table, ticking names off her fingers as she continued. “Red Hood. Spoiler. Uh…Orphan?” She trailed off, forehead scrunching in concentrated thought.

“That’s can’t be all the ones you know.” Jon gaped, eyes sparkling with amusement as he glanced over to were Bruce was seated, not five feet away before turning back to watch Elle try to rack her brain for any more Gotham vigilantes. Clark could see the moment that the words are taken as a challenge as Elle sat up and looked more determined.

“No, shut up, I know more. Uh…there’s the one, um Red Sparrow? It’s another bird one with red name, I’m pretty sure. And the one with the blue - fuck I should know his name. Nightjar? Wasn’t Nightingale I would have remembered that…shit, dude threw up on our couch once I should remember his name -“

“Nightwing threw up on your couch?”

“Nightwing! That’s the bitch! He got poisoned or something and Dan drug him to our place to patch him up since Doc Thompkins’ clinic was closed.”

Clark shared a look with Bruce and Damian. Dick had failed to mention that little event. Clark could see Bruce reaching for his wrist computer, undoubtedly typing out a message his eldest about what he’d just heard - possibly another to Alfred if he was feeling like pulling out the big guns.

At the other end of the table Elle ticked Nightwing off with a nod, even as Jon squawked that it shouldn’t count since he’d given her the name, “Then there’s…uh…oh! Harley Quinn!”

“Harley Quinn does not count.”

“She beat up a guy trying to mug me last week and got me a hot chocolate afterwards, she totally counts!”

“Someone tried to mug you?”

“Crime Alley, Nix, if someone doesn’t try to mug me while I’m out I get worried that I missed Hood calling in a Street Clear for something big.”

“We’re going to circle back on that later.” Jon said, sharing a pointed glance with Damian. It looked like young Miss Nightingale was going to be getting escorted to and from the Watchtower from now on.

Ah, Clark mused, falling head over heels for someone with no understanding of the concept of self-preservation and a stubborn determination to run straight into the heart of danger without a second thought. It brought back such fond memories. Of both Lois and Bruce. And Diana. And - Hmm. Kara might have been right. Clark might have a type.

Watching the three at the other end of the table and taking them in, Clark realized he might have passed his taste in partners on to his son. Well, at least he’ll be able to give Jon some advise on how to handle the heart attacks Damian and Elle will inevitably give him.

“Harley Quinn doesn’t count. You got any more?”

Elle rolled her eyes, muttering about Harley totally counts, before leaning back in her chair. “I think I’m out. I know there’s more but,” She gave a shrug, “I’m tapped out. Those are all the ones I can think of.”

It was, surprisingly, Bruce that spoke up at that declaration, a slant of amusement to his lips as he asked, “No one else comes to mind?”

Elle waved him off, attention turning to the mountain of alien script they needed her to translate for them. It was the reason she was even there rather than in her office trying to translate whatever incredibly dangerous magic tomb JL Dark had dropped off without accidentally summoning a demon or ending hte world in the process. J’onn was right, they really should give her a raise.“That’s all I got.” She said with a sigh, “Like I said, I know the relevant ones.”

“Hn.”

Twenty minutes of shared looks of amusement and suppressed laughter later Elle’s head shot up, a look of wide eyed embarrassment on her face. “Oh my god.”

“There it is.”

“About time Nightingale, I was starting to be concerned about your mental faculties.”

“Shut up, this so embarrassing!”

“Don’t sweat it kid, we all have our moments.”

“I can’t believe I forgot Signal.”

“What.”

---

Context of this snippet if anyone is interested:

This is actually the same AU as the Steph & Jason sibling bonding Anger Management snippet from a bit ago (I’m calling it my Ghosts in Gotham AU in scrivener so I guess that’s what I’ll call it here lol). This time focused on Elle and her misadventures as a Totally Normal Civilian (TM) working for the Justice League with her two besties Jon & Damian (none of them realize yet that they’ve been dating for months).

No idea when this is supposed to take place in terms of timeline with the other snippet, but kinda vibing the idea that while Steph & Jason are having a heart to heart on a rooftop over their shared background and Jason’s future as a dad, Elle is up in the Watchtower telling Bruce Wayne to his face that she has no idea who he is and forgetting Batman is a Gotham vigilante while he’s sitting at the same table as her.

Anyway, this AU has taken over my life. Expect more nonsense to come lol

[ghcstao3]

actor ghoap who definitely know Of each other and have mutual friends, but have never worked together let alone met

soap will reply to every question of “if you could choose, what one person would you want to work with” saying it’d be ghost, and while ghost never gives a straightforward answer for the same question, he’ll always say something along the lines of, well i’ve heard soap is pretty insistent on working with me, so—

and eventually they do get a project together—the leading roles, in fact, because their chemistry is just that good.

but by the time interviews and press tours roll around… it’s discovered that maybe it’s a little too good. so good, in fact, that their respective managers have to make sure they stop getting interviews with the two of them alone because nothing productive gets done ever. a single question might set off a tangent and suddenly it’s less of an interview and more storytelling and cracking inside jokes.

they’re professionals, their managers swear—just… not when they don’t have a buffer between them. and no, just don’t mind the excessive touching.

then of course, when rumours come out following the junkets that ghost and soap started dating, it’s to the surprise of absolutely no one.

[cyberghouleo]

bodyguard! simon riley x celebrity! reader

To the displeasure of everyone I know, I got cod brain rot.

Inspired by: Celebrity by Slayyyter

When your manager suggested you hire a new bodyguard after your old one quit, you were not expecting a masked man with an accent to walk through your doors. 

At first, he sees you as a spoiled brat. He’s not used to being a bodyguard for someone famous, he is used to being hired as a hitman in more dangerous situations. He only accepted this job as the pay was good and his last job was nearby, but now he feels as if he's being toted around like a puppy, trailing behind you as you go along your normal day to day life.

Everything was a culture shift to him, he wasn’t used to following his clients while they shop or getting asked if you should purchase something, to which he always responded with “if that’s what you like.” He’s not used to sitting at lunch at a nearby table as your friends drill you with questions about him, questions about the mask and why he looked so differently than your previous guards. He was used to being in stressful situations, spending hours researching his client's attacker while being on alert 24/7, now he was just following you around with no immediate threats happening to you. 

While you're doing interviews or getting your makeup done before a photoshoot, he is sitting across from you in a chair with his arms crossed. He keeps his balaclava on and hardly speaks unless someone tries to deny him access behind the scenes with you. He speaks before you can, “I’m ‘er guard.” he grunts out as he keeps walking past them, following behind you. 

Trying to get to know him felt like pulling teeth, he’s standoffish and when he does answer questions, it's always short answers, even refusing to tell you his real name after you asked. You knew almost nothing about him, but that all changed once you’re alerted that your P.O box is being sent threatening letters, claiming to have a hit out on you. Ghost instructs that you are both to not leave the house until he can gather enough info about your threatener, leaving the two of you alone for several weeks.

These weeks alone cause him to slowly start opening up to you as the two of you have nothing else to do or talk about. You learn about his past clients, how this is his first high status bodyguard job, and his time in the military. He tells you bits at a time, not willing to spill too much at one time, almost testing to see how you respond to each bit of new information you learn about him. During dinner one night, he randomly speaks up. “Simon.” 

“What?”

“My name. Simon.”

It only takes a few weeks for him to track and find the person sending you the threats, and he reassures you that everything will be fine now. He doesn’t show any proof, but you trust him enough to believe him. The weeks you spent together did lead to some tension between the two of you, you are able to see a human side of him that you weren’t expecting, and you could feel yourself getting intrigued by what else you could learn about him. You scolded yourself for thinking this way towards a bodyguard, someone trying to do his job, but you also couldn’t deny the way you were starting to feel when you caught glimpses of his arms flexing underneath the tight black shirts he wore often. 

He slowly starts warming up to you and seeing you in a different light once he spends a few months inside your house. You aren’t as bratty or snobby as he expected. He tries to brush away any lingering thoughts as you ask him to help you zip up your dress, noticing how small your shoulders look under his gaze. Or when you ask him to help you put on a necklace, comparing how small your hands are to his when you hand him the necklace. 

The tension finally breaks when you are in a dressing room alone, waiting around as the photographer goes over the photos one final time before you could leave. You can feel him eyeing you up and down while you aren’t paying attention, his eyes studying the dress you were getting paid to wear and the way it hugged you. One offhand comment from you leads to him lifting you up onto the vanity counter, his mask pulled above his nose as his mouth finds yours, soft moans escaping you. Your panties are pulled to the side as his tongue circles around your clit, one hand pressed against your mouth to quiet you, so the staff doesn’t hear you cumming against his tongue. 

When in large crowds, one of his hands is always pressed against the small of your back as he guides you through the masses, the feeling of his touch lingering on your back even after he pulls away. His other hand resting close to the concealed gun he keeps at his hip, staying alert as his eyes scan through the faces to assess any threats. Crowds will naturally part once they notice how big he is and the way he towers over most of the fans.

The paparazzi gets a photo of you two together, Simon holding a few shopping bags as he trails behind you. The photo is captioned as if he was your secret boyfriend and your fans go crazy, tweeting how cute the two of you are together and how mysterious he was.

“Look, everyone thinks we are dating.” You say as you shove your phone in his face. His eyes take a few seconds to adjust to the photo, reading a comment on how good of a couple the two of you are. He only hums a response and rolls his eyes. He expects you to have a different reaction, shocked that you didn’t find it annoying but almost enduring. The idea of you being okay with the two of you being in a relationship and not just fuckbuddies ignites something deep in his stomach. 

You definitely talk him into taking a few photos of you for Instagram, instructing him on how to frame the photo as he stares blankly at the phone. When you post the photos, comments flood in asking if your mystery bodyguard was the one who took them. You often post stories with him lingering around in the background, only fueling the relationship speculation as fans talk about him living with you.

After the media starts to report more on the two of you, Ghost starts getting more offers from other celebrities to become their bodyguard. He gives them no second thought as he denies them. He will get approached with offers to pay him triple and he still waves them off, he plans on staying loyal as a bodyguard to you and you only, no matter how much they offer him.

Simon decides to make the two of you official by gifting you a necklace with his initial, something you wear and post about often, sending your fans into a bigger spiral. He finds the fans both amusing and slightly disturbing, showing how much love they have for you, yet you only get to call him yours. 

[marlinspirkhall]

Robin not knowing what Britain was and then telling them it didn't even use to be an island and he walked here is exactly the kind of ancient ghost shit I come to this program for

[veiledwinter]

It wasn't intentional. He had only wanted to get groceries and return to his apartment as quick as he could. He should know he never gets what he wants.

He hadn't meant to bump into someone as he rounded the corner into another aisle and watch her stubble and almost fall back. And he certainly hadn't wanted to grab her arm and pull her into his chest.

She seemed flustered when she pulled away— stumbling over her words as she apologized. She didn't seem at all fazed by their height difference or that he seemed intimidating. It was cute.

But it ended as quickly as it started. He reassured her it was okay then she apologized one more time before wishing him well and walking away.

He felt almost let down? Like he wanted to talk to her more, be around her more. He shook off the feeling. Meeting her was an accident.

Everything after that, however, was anything but accidental. Simon couldn't help but be drawn to her. They've only had one actual interaction and he's already deep enough in her life that he's looking through her therapy files.

He was aware it was creepy but who gives a fuck, he just thought she was cute whats the harm in finding out more about her? In finding ways to run into her at the grocery store? In making sure her home was safe for her because she was negligent with her own safety?

It had gotten to the point where he believed that they were in a relationship. Thought of her as his when he saw her in the canned goods aisle. Followed her home to make sure nothing bad happened to his girl because she didn't pay as much attention to her surroundings as she should.

It's for the better anyway. You needed to be protected and cared for and Simon would always be there for you. It's meant to be in his mind.

[grlpartdoll]

Ok so the first post I made about famous!reader and bodyguard!Simon made me think about something interesting. How would Simon react to his lamb actually getting sick or being in a bad place? I am sick, so this is incredibly self indulgent, lol.

afab!reader, mdni with any of my work pls.

You sip quietly, watching through your lashes as Simon types something on his phone. It's late at night — one am. Way past the bedtime established by the man himself.

There's only one light on, and it's the one in the hallway. It illuminates only half of his face, highlighting a sharp jaw, a scarred brow and lip, a once (or twice) broken nose.

When you shift uncomfortably, he peers down at you again, his eyes immediately brought to you when you sputter a little, water refusing to go down.

"Doc's beeper is off." He announces, turning off his phone and bending his knees a little to lower himself to your height. As you slowly move your cup of warm water down on-top of your thighs, you cup your throat, a desolate frown on your face.

He motions for you to open your mouth, raising a hand to pinch your chin gently between his fingers. He looks at the state of your throat, at the cough drop you're using sitting idly behind your teeth.

He shakes his head. "Still inflamed."

You pout. Quietly, you try to speak, but he shoots you a look you know too well.

"Y'know the procedure, Bambi."

You give a glance at the camera crew stuck at the door. The rule that Simon had firmly introduced and stuck to ever since the documentary had begun filming between the walls of your home — no cameras in your room, and none at the door if it was closed. The only reason its open now is because your manager had scolded him about the documentary not containing enough raw footage of what it was like to live in your skin. All of its current footage was made up of carefully nitpicked moments Simon allowed people to witness and nothing else.

Even this, you know, is eating away at him.

And at you, too.

It's shameful, to pull out your rusty signing skills when there are cameras there. When it's just you and Simon, it's.. different. You know he doesn't judge.

His hand tightens around your jaw a little. Nothing painful. But it jostles you back to reality, bringing your gaze back to him.

"Focus o'me. Just you and me." He whispers. You hope the cameras don't pick it up. Maybe, if you're lucky, they won't have. Afterall, you don't have mics strapped on — the whole crew had been sitting in your kitchen eating when Simon called your name, noticing (or hearing?) you tiptoeing to the bathroom for a drink, and none of them had had time to get mics on anyone because of how quickly it had all happened. Or, well, it could also be because he slammed the bathroom door closed and then proceeded to corner you in the bathroom until you admitted you couldn't sleep because your throat was hurting. He only let the cameras film you after you'd confirmed ten times over that you were okay with them filming you.

You start to go through the words in your head, translating them into jerky movements of your hands. He nods as you sign "it doesn't hurt anymore"

"That's the cough drops," he whispers, and his voice sounds so intimate that you want to melt into it. He tucks your blankets around you, and takes the hot pack from your bedside table, silently applying it to your throat.

With your performance just tomorrow where you're supposed to sing live, this is really not something you want. You get the flu too easily, you have a shit immune system, had always been like that since you were a kid, but today, it feels even more disappointing because it's ruining something important you'd been practicing for a very, very long time.

You hum. It feels tight in your throat, and you cough again, trying to alleviate the pressure.

"Alright, alright, get it out," he moves the two of you around until you're on your side, and he's sitting right beside you. You're curled around him, and he's patting your back, rubbing it soothingly. The flue meds would kick in soon enough — knock you out. But for now, you worry, and you're angry.

You stick your hands up at him. You sign too quickly — clumsily ; "told you we shouldn't have went to the award show. Someone there was sick as hell and we all know it was—."

As he glares at the cameras trying to catch what you're signing, he also expertly catches your hands and lowers them to his lap before you can do or say something stupid, warming them in his impossibly warm ones.

"Stop fussing," he grumbles quietly, probably meaning for it to sound reprimanding, but it comes out more like a plea. "Go to sleep. We'll deal with this in the morning."

You sigh, burrying your face in your blankets. He keeps rubbing your back.

You eventually dig yourself out of the blankets, fever making your body run hotter. He helps you move on top of them until you're laying on your back, your upper body raised by a shit ton of pillows. He sits next to you like you're on your death bed. Something about the situation makes you want to laugh, even though you're a bit upset.

He still holds your hands.

When his hold on them finally loosens, though, when he probably thinks you're finally succumbing to the medication, you move your hands up again and sign, calmly this time ; "sorry for waking you up."

He fixes some strands of hair that fall in your face, sticking to the beading sweat on your temples. He shakes his head, his face severe and strangely.. comforting. Every harsh slope, every cruel swipe of scars, every movement. It all feels like home to you. His hand lingers on your temple. Calloused and scarred too, but he touches you with so much gentleness you only feel the soft edges of his fingers.

"Sleep, kid." He finally murmurs. You know the cameras and the crew don't catch that. "Please. You'll feel better in the morning."

You doubt it, but you close your eyes, and let his presence sway you into sleep anyway.

[chemical-abscess]

First murder

[weirdlookindog]

Virgil Finlay - And Not In Peace

(Famous Fantastic Mysteries - December 1946)

[greenlaut]

they’re in love your honor